Mutiny
by fowl68
Summary: "Build a base on the coldest spot on the planet, he said. It'll be fun, he said." Pre-Game. No spoilers.


_"The desire to resist oppression is implanted in the nature of man."_

 _—Tacitus_

* * *

"Build a base on the coldest spot on the planet, he said. It'll be fun, he said."

Yuan looked up at Botta, leaning in the doorway of the Flanoir infirmary. Botta was not a man who handled cold well, bundled in layers of thick clothes and a heavy coat, his heavy boots leaving little trails of melting snow on the floors.

"I don't recall ever saying it would be fun," Yuan said.

"Mm. My apologies then, as I clearly misheard you over the constant blizzards."

Yuan's sour look was spoiled by the slight curl to his lips.

Botta came to stand beside the bed in which one of their young recruits lay. The boy couldn't be more than twenty, had signed up less than a year ago after his farm several miles outside of Meltokio was destroyed in a raid. He wasn't the only one. Many of their number had been struck with a high fever and a horrible, wracking cough. It was a common enough ailment that the residents of Flanoir vaccinated for, but the Renegades hadn't known that when they came to begin building their new base. Botta's arm still bore a bandage from the shot he'd been given when he came into the infirmary.

"How are they doing?"

"Steven stirs sometimes. Hasn't woken properly. Adrienne sleeps a lot, but she's fairly lucid when she's awake. The twins have two more days to go before they're released. Doctor says that the worst has passed, so they should all make a good recovery."

Unwinding his scarf, Botta sat in the only other available chair. "That's good to hear."

Yuan leaned back, spine cracking from being in one position too long. "We were lucky this time," he said, pushing his hair back out of his face. Angels didn't need to sleep or eat, but Botta could still see the exhaustion and worry in the corners of his eyes and the tightness of his mouth. "We should have been more prepared."

"We will be. From now on, we will be. We will get a comprehensive set of vaccinations for everyone, so they can travel in safety regardless of which world they're in. I've already begun drawing up a list."

Yuan snorted softly. Botta was always the type to be prepared; this rash of sickness couldn't have hit him well. "I'm surprised to see you here, then. You'd think you'd still be making that list and arranging vaccination schedules."

"I wanted to check on them. And you." Botta didn't even have to turn to see Yuan's expression. "Yes, I'm quite aware that you're semi-capable of taking care of yourself. Mostly."

"Your vote of confidence is inspiring. Truly," Yuan said dryly.

Botta smirked a little. "You know me: always in your corner, sir."

"Mutiny. I'm going to see if I can hang you for mutiny."

"I don't think hanging is legal anymore. On either world."

"Keel-hauling?"

"You don't have a keel to haul me on."

Yuan hummed. "Ah well. I suppose I can let you off this time since I am apparently all out of punishments."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Botta appreciated the chance to let the warmth sink into his bones. He never thought he'd say he missed the desert. "How long have you been here?"

Silence.

"Yuan." Some of the newer recruits—Botta said newer, but really, most of them were new to him, who'd been there nearly since the Renegades' inception—called him Lord Yuan, out of respect, or perhaps having heard one of the older recruits calling him that sarcastically, but Botta had never used the title. "You _have_ moved from that spot in the last week, haven't you?"

"Of course I have," Yuan snapped. "The nurses needed this space for something very early on."

Botta pushed himself to his feet, wondering when he signed up to be his boss's minder. "Let's go, sir. You need to get out of this building."

"It's freezing outside."

"Then be very grateful you don't have to feel it. Up you get."

Yuan did as he was told with a sigh, waiting for Botta to re-knot his scarf before following him down the hall and out the door. "Kidnapping a superior officer now, Botta?"

"Add it to the list of mutiny charges, sir."

As a city, Botta could appreciate Flanoir. It was beautiful, with sturdy stone and wood buildings, sloped roofs and winding streets. The city was built low, but sprawling, and Botta had taken several wrong turns before finding the infirmary several hours earlier. The cold, however. Bitter and harsh and ever-present. Flanoir's warm season involved slightly slushier snow. Botta couldn't understand how people could voluntarily live here.

There was a snowman building competition, apparently. Out in an open space by the churchyard. Botta puzzled over some of the sculptures, smiled at children's attempts, and was honesty awed at some of them.

"Is that a dragon?" Botta asked, tilting his head.

Yuan made a sound in his throat. "I hope so. Otherwise, I pity the eyes of the artist."

Botta bent, packing some snow in his gloved hands. The texture was odd to him, fairly solid, yet soft. "I didn't see snow until I was with the Renegades. It's still odd to me."

Yuan gently tapped an icicle forming from a roof. "We had some snow, growing up. Not often, and it rarely stayed very long."

Botta stayed crouching, but glanced up at Yuan. "…But it snows in Asgard. Not a deep snow like this, but they have several months of snow."

"Things change in four thousand years."

"I suppose splitting a world in half would change the climate quite a bit." Botta brushed the snow from his hands before standing upright. He found Yuan watching him. "Something wrong?"

"Why are you still here, Botta?"

"Because you clearly can't be trusted to take care of yourself." Yuan didn't reply, but Botta knew what the intended question was. "I can't think of a better place to be, sir."

"You have all the opportunities. All the ability. You could go anywhere, do anything."

"So could you," Botta said quietly.

"You could marry. Have a quiet life in the country. Or the city. Your preference."

Botta pushed his hands in his coat pockets. "Are you trying to make a point? Because you're taking the longest route to get there."

"Most of the people who helped create the Renegades are either dead or they left. Why haven't you? This is essentially a death sentence."

"Of course it is. Rebelling against an organization that's controlled the world for the last four thousand years? The odds of making it out alive to the other side are astronomical." Botta kicked one leg up to lean on the stone pillar behind him. "But some things are worth dying for."

"Aren't there things worth living for?"

"Of course. I'm not on a suicide mission, Yuan. I've seen my friends live and die among us, get married. Have children. I've seen those children grow up in safety—well. Relative safety—and seen them be proud to join the cause. They know of discrimination, outside our territory, but they don't grow up hating what they are, what they were born as. The world deserves to be like that everywhere, but not forced upon us by an insane child god."

Yuan was silent for a long moment, not looking at Botta. His second-in-command followed his eyes and found him looking in the direction of the infirmary.

"Not getting cold feet about those kids, are you?"

"…Child soldiers were common, in the War. It wasn't even deemed strange. Drafts were given to boys as young as fourteen."

"They aren't children," Botta told him. "I'm sure we all seem like it to you, but they're adults. They made the decision to join us, for whatever reasons they have."

"And despite my being responsible for their lives, I may very well end up getting them killed."

 _(Doubt is something that Yuan rarely allows himself. But it has hit him hard this week, and he's been stewing in his own head for much of that week, standing vigil over his fevered comrades)_

"Did you force them?"

Now, Yuan did look at Botta, confusion in the wrinkle of his brow. "What?"

"Did. You. Force them? Did you hold a gun to their heads, or a knife to their throat and say, 'Go to Flanoir or else.'? Did you threaten their families?"

 _(Sometimes, Yuan finds it a little difficult to hold Botta's gaze. Botta is the kind of loyal that's rarer than a palm tree in Flanoir, with a determination steadier than the ground beneath their feet. Yuan has never asked for this kind of devotion, has never expected it, and so when faced with it, he doesn't quite know what to do with it)_

"You know I didn't."

"Then allow them to make their own choices, regardless of whether those choices lead to their death or not. That's the world we want, isn't it? A free one? In every sense of the word?"

"You're very confident in this."

"There's no room for doubt in what we do, Yuan. I figured that out years ago. But don't worry." Botta smirked again, the expression lifting years from his face, and making him look like the young thief Yuan had met decades ago. "I hear it's perfectly possible to teach an old dog new tricks."

"I think you enjoy adding items to your mutiny list," Yuan said as they began the winding walk back towards the infirmary.

"I'm not too concerned. I do the books, after all, and we don't have the budget for a keel."

"Well, you're apparently not going anywhere. I'll save up for one."

"That'll be an exciting day, sir."


End file.
